Perhaps you told her this too much:
A singer’s called to sing
the song that sharpens in her veins
until it cramps its sting.
Perhaps you trained her to your arms
without the right to know
the dodges that derail her charms,
the maps she’ll never grow.
And though she loves, perhaps she can’t
contract where you augment.
Perhaps her scent endured your heat
then cooled to your intent.
Perhaps she knew you’d seek for her
where neon signs its name.
Perhaps the dark that fetches her
will shine you all the same.
Written After Listening to “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie
About the Author: Tom Daley’s poetry has appeared in Harvard Review, Massachusetts Review, 32 Poems, Fence, Denver Quarterly, Crazyhorse, Barrow Street, Prairie Schooner, Witness, Poetry Ireland Review, and elsewhere. Recipient of the Dana Award in Poetry and the Charles and Fanny Fay Wood Prize from the Academy of American Poets, he is the author of two plays, Every Broom and Bridget—Emily Dickinson and Her Irish Servants and In His Ecstasy—The Passion of Gerard Manley Hopkins, which he performs as one-man shows. FutureCycle Press published his first-full length collection of poetry, House You Cannot Reach—Poems in the Voice of My Mother and Other Poems, in the summer of 2015. He leads writing workshops in the Boston area and online for poets and writers working in creative prose.